Swat Kats Origins - Down These Red Skies
by AjaxRota
Summary: Mega War 2 rages on. With the enemy pressing in on all sides, a veteran pilot receives a rookie gunner, fresh out of training. Departing on a routine interception, the pair encounter one of the deadliest kats to ever fly. A short once-off set some 100 years prior to the events of SWAT Kats, during Mega War 2.


The first year of conflict had been almost surreal in nature. Everyone know that tensions had been building for some years prior, but petty domestic squabbles and senseless bickering had keep The Union paralyzed, unable to present a unified front to their enemies. They had seized the opportunity, and pounced.

Of course, legions of the youthful had stepped up to serve their country, confident in the fact that victory would simply be a matter of time. The ranks of the army, navy and air force swelled with recruits, enthusiastic and raring to take on the fight. A minor dispute, it had been called as they signed up by the tens of thousands; over by Christmas. With vestiges of the last great conflict slowly dying out as its veterans dwindled in numbers; with politicians and bureaucrats so sure of themselves, thinking they had answers for everything, the simple fact that even the best laid plans quickly fall to pieces on the battlefield had been forgotten.

And so the young and eager marched off to war.

The reality of the situation became apparent in the second year. Their enemies did not break and falter as they had been told; eagerness turned to apprehension, apprehension to fear. Battles no longer took place on some distant field, some distant country; they fought in the streets of their cities, the skies above their homes, in and under their waters. In the tens of thousands, the young and eager fell.

By the fourth year, notions of victory had given way to survival. See out the war, the politicians now said; it was no longer a grand adventure, an opportunity to serve with distinction, to make a difference, it was now a straightforward game of numbers. The equation was simple; it required the lives of three union soldiers to neutralise two enemy combatants, and with The Union outnumbering their enemy thirteen to eight, in the end, they would win.

With each survivor standing atop twenty corpses.

Walter Ross grimaced as the doctor yanked a twisted piece of shrapnel from his arm. It was just his luck, though it had swung both ways, to be in this predicament. A routine intercept of an enemy observation aircraft, moving nice and slow some thirty miles north of their position, had led to both a lucky shot and an incredible escape. By rights the enemy gunner should have done him in, as unlikely as the hit had been. Some three quarters of a mile out, a bullet that was meant for him and struck one of his two guns mounted on the engine cowling. The weapon's ammunition had detonated, saving his life, no doubt, but showering him in the shredded remains of the high calibre machine gun.

"Doc, don't you got any morphine?" he asked.

The doctor, possibly the single most surly and unpleasant kat that he had ever had the misfortune of meeting, continued to dig his steel pliers into Walter's flesh.

"Nope." he replied. "Ran out two months ago. Not expecting resupply any time soon either."

"Well, got anything? This hurts like the devil."

"Shut it, I'm almost done. We'd normally give you leave for this, but heaven's knows we can use all the pilots we can get our paws on. Manx probably wants you on bomber escort tomorrow."

"Gunna need a new rear gunny for that, doc." said Walter.

"Talk to Manx, he'll sort something out."

Walter continued to endure. In his three years of flying, he'd been shot down, wounded, stranded, shot down again and still he kept climbing back into the cockpit. In three years, he'd lost much, his carefree life, his innocence and more than his fair share of blood, but never a squadmate. Until yesterday.

Until now, his blemish free record had been a matter of pride; it had seemed like an accomplishment to the tiger-stripped kat. Now, all that boastfulness in the pilots mess, all that chest beating and knuckle cracking every time they had been called to scrambled seemed so pointless, so worthless. While Walter had escaped with a piece of shrapnel in the arm, his gunner, however, had caught a piece in the back of the skull.

There wasn't much more to it. He was gone and Walter was left behind.

"Done. Get outta here, I've got real injuries to patch up."

With a grumble, Walter stood up from the chair and ambled out of the makeshift surgery and onto the squadron's airfield.

If you could call it that.

Their squadron had relocated to an old motor yard on the outskirts of the city, across the bay from the downtown area, after operations out of dedicated military airfields in the city proper had become too high risk. A bunker had been hastily excavated to protect their planes from the ever increasing danger of aerial bombing. Beyond that, the Army been bringing all their vehicles and equipment too battle-damaged to be worth repairing to the yard, and simply dumping them. Vast fields of slowing rusting and decaying materiel stretched out either side of their airstrip. Ostensibly, the rationale from command was that if their new airfield looked like a junkyard, the enemy would believe it to be a junkyard. Walter figured they were just being lazy. Lazy, or their logistical situation was worse than they had been letting on.

"Yo, Wallie!"

"Hey, Pops."

Despite only being in his mid thirties, the fact that Arthur Moore was anywhere between five and ten years older than his wingkats had led to him being christened "Pops'. Far from a jibe, he was exceptionally popular among the younger pilots, possessing both a sense of humour and the patience of a saint.

"Wallie, sorry to hear about your gunny, how long was you two flying for?"

"Maybe six months?" responded Walter. "Good kid, gunna be missed."

"Well, heads up pal, I hear Manx has someone new lined up for ya, Army transfer, given how we're running low on Air Force recruits n' all."

"Manx." snorted Walter. "Pompous S.O.B., think's he's real snazzy."

"That may be so, but seems that command jus' can't find enough medals to pin on that kat's jacket see. Can't deny that it's gone to his head, seems he's taken to calling himself 'The Blue Manx', or at least he does when he blows his wig in front of them boys from New Kat."

"Don't remind me."

"Hey, he's the squadron commander. Anyway, gotta scoot, keep ya whiskers outta trouble, see."

"Yeah, seeya round." said Walter, watching his friend jog off towards the squadron's motor pool.

He walked cautiously past the crew of an anti-aircraft cannon, leaning listlessly against their weapon, cigarettes hanging limply from their mouths. The New Kat City aerial artillery battalion had been sent over some weeks ago in an attempt to patch up Megakat City's rapidly deteriorating air defense. To say that relations between the pilots and soldiers had been tense would be an understatement. Word had been spreading, slowly but surely, of deep division within The Union. With the war dragging on far longer than anyone had anticipated, member states, their pre-war relations already strained, had sought to bolster their own defenses at the expense of the national war effort. Even in his hometown, Walter had heard talk of forming a some sort of paramilitary enforcement bureau after the conflicts conclusion, on the assumption that intra-Union relations would deteriorate further.

"Hey mega, hear you went and got your gunny killed the other day. Seems you'd rather have some poor kid take the fall for you than face up."

"Here we go again."

Typically, he would brush it off; it simply wasn't worth causing a scene. Like it or not, Megakat and New Kat cities were in this together, and while they didn't have to like it, they at least had to work together.

Today, however, was not a typical day.

"Yeah? Take the fall for me, huh?" started Walter, jutting his arms out sideways. "You know, you and your gang of creeps must feel real tough n' all sitting all the way down here. Don't know why we're risking our tails to protect that dump of a city you call home. Why don't you lot scram on back over the state border and let the big boys do the fighting?"

"That got them going."

The squad leader, a burly kat with blond fur, his arms charred and scorched from the firing of the cannon and the handling of hot ammunition casings, strode confidently forward. He clutched a large, rusted wrench in his paws, tapping it casually against his leg as he walked forward, sizing Walter up.

"Why wait? Wanna make something of it, mega?"

Walter was half considering reaching for his sidearm when his commanding officer's voice rang out across the yard. Loud, full of grandeur and arrogance, there was no doubt who it belonged to.

"Ross!" Manx called. "Get your tail over here!"

The New Kat City soldier grinned. His voice was low, but dripped with contempt as he spoke.

"Next time, mega. Best not be keepin' ya' boss waiting."

Walter about-faced without giving the large kat the satisfaction of a reply. As full of himself as he may be, Manx was at the very least, a passable commander, and likely wouldn't tolerate Walter having a scrap in the middle of the yard. The slightly rotund officer walked across the field towards his position, trailing a small kat with tabby markings in his wake.

"Wish we all got fed like that."

Manx pulled up several feet short of Walter, puffing his chest out as he eyed his subordinate in silent judgement.

"Sir?"

Manx's face twisted into a scowl, his large, round forehead furrowing as he narrowed his eyes on Walter.

"Ross." he began, the tension in his voice betraying his otherwise calm demeanor. "What have I told you about about these disruptions? We're running a war here, I can't have my pilots making fools of themselves like that!"

"Sorry, sir." replied Walter. "Was jus' letting off some steam."

"Well, let's not discuss it further then. I have a new rear gunner for you. Transfer from the Army; never been in a plane before, but he's trained on the same machine gun we use. Show him the ropes and see that he doesn't get in too much trouble."

"Yes sir."

"And that goes double for you."

With a swish of his tail and a flick of his jacket collar, the self-proclaimed Blue Manx sauntered towards the officer's mess, leaving the small kat behind. Almost everyone at the airfield, or anywhere else for that matter, was looking worryingly lean, thanks to the nation-wide food rationing that had been put in place some months ago. At the very least, the military had received the lion's share; Walter didn't want to think about how the civilian population was fairing.

The kat that stood before him, however, was skinnier still. Clutching his service rifle tightly, he looked barely a day over eighteen, or a pound over one twenty. The recruiters were really scraping the bottom of the barrel.

"So." said Walter. "Who might you be?"

The small kat glanced nervously about before replying.

"Uh, Furlong, sir. William Furlong."

###### ###### ######

"Here ya go, Willie, eat up!"

William Furlong cocked his head at the kat introduced to him as Pops. "Willie, sir?"

"Yeah!" replied Pops. "Willie and Wallie, partners in crime, kats in canvas, terrors of the skies."

"Um, ok sir, I guess."

"Stop with the crust, Pops, kid's just hear to eat, lay off will ya?"

Walter marched into the field kitchen behind his newly assigned rear gunner. Pops grinned as he flashed a mock salute.

"Yeah, sure thing Wallie."

"Don't call me Wallie."

Depositing two bowls of a watery looking gruel onto an empty table, Walter motioned for gunner to join him.

"Don't mind Pops." he said. "He's a good kat, means well, jus' let's his mouth run a bit dingy at times."

William took a few mouthfuls of the gruel before replying.

"It's ok, sir. he said. "I could do a lot worse than have someone call me a spazzy name."

"You'll get a lot worse than that from them New Kat thugs, and you can cut it with the sir, I just fly the plane, you dig?"

William nodded, still shoveling the gruel into his mouth.

"Don't think I've ever seen anyone enjoy that crud so much."

The smaller kat gulped down his last mouthful before replying.

"Well, I'm getting fed here, more than I can say for myself three weeks ago."

"Wait, three weeks?" shot Walter. "How long you been in the service for?"

"Uh, three weeks, s..boss. Jus' turned eighteen last month, got drafted in like everyone else. Didn't have a whole lot to eat back home, what with the rationing and all. Bowl of tuna and wheat gruel goes down real well when you're hungry."

"Kats alive, so have you been through training?"

"Yeah, sure did." said William. "Gave me two weeks on the machine gun then shipped me off here. Never even seen a plane before."

Walter stared into his bowl and stirred the slop absentmindedly with his spoon. He knew the situation was bad when they starting bring in Army recruits to replace gunners and ground crew, but at the very least, he had expected someone with more than a paltry two weeks training.

"Boss?"

"Wha... ah, yeah, Willie?"

"What's uh, what's it like up there?"

Different recruit, same question.

"It's not what you think." he began. "I'm sure them recruiters and the brass at boot camp drilled into that we're fighting these real S.O.B.'s, that there's here because they hate us."

"Yeah." replied William. "They showed us a few film reels 'bout what they do to their prisoners. Nasty stuff."

"I know." continued Walter. "Saw the same stuff. If you went and asked me what I thought three years ago I would have said the same thing, ain't no denying it. But all that stuff you learn just doesn't cut it. Can't really say much that will help you before we jump into it, cept that all that crud they feed you, it's going to be the furthest thing from your mind when the shooting starts. All that matters is that I keep flying and you keep shooting, ain't no more to it than that."

"Yeah, alright, boss."

Walter finished his meal in silence, only occasionally glancing up at the younger kat. Once finished, he stood up and collected both their bowls.

"Hey kid." he said. "Don't sweat it. I jus' need to know that you've got my back."

"Sure, I got ya."

"Glad to hear it. I'll fetch you another bowl, cook owes me a favour."

###### ###### ######

It was a tick past five forty in the morning when the air raid siren sounded, jolting the kats awake. The sun was just beginning to peek over the low hills to the east, throwing long shadows across the airstrip. The pilot accommodation tents, pitched close to the parked fighter aircraft, began to brim with activity.

"Rise and shine, Willie, we're scrambling."

A leather jacket hit William square in the chest as he propped himself up on his elbows.

"What's this?" he asked, swinging his legs over the side of the cot.

"Gunna be mighty cold up there." replied Walter. "Chuck that on, you're no good to me if you freeze. Outside in thirty."

William had slept in his tunic and breeches on advice of his pilot, should the situation the now found themselves in eventuate. He quickly threw on the jacket and laced his boots before running onto the airstrip. Pilots and their gunners were already assembling in front of Manx's tent, gathered about a chalk board. Watler motioned the younger kat over.

"...keep it brief. Forward observers spotted a flight of enemy twin-engines about twenty minutes ago. Weren't able to eyeball them well enough to tell if they had any ordinance, but we're not going to take the risk. Fighter escort was light, but enemy troops made a push on our trenches before they could get a proper count. We're going to hit them over the AA line, keep formation and don't engage until the guns have stopped. Questions?"

A few kats shook their heads.

"Good hunting, boys."

William ran behind Walter as the pair ran for their aircraft. Until yesterday, William had only seen pictures. Growing up, he had heard about kats who flew machines through the sky, but never thought that he'd ever end up riding in one, let alone fighting a war. It was surreal, the idea of leaving the ground, with nothing except some poorly understood concept of aerodynamic lift keeping you afloat.

And of course, there would be kats shooting at them.

William pushed these thoughts from his mind as he jumped onto the lower of the biplane's two wings. He was here to cover the two of them from the rear, not to gawk over the machinery.

"Willie! Get that gun loaded, we're away in one minute!"

Loading and racking the machine gun's action as he'd done a hundred times during his brief training, the smaller kat deposited himself into the crapped gunner's seat. Walter made several adjustments to the flight controls and the engine roared to the life, dousing them briefly in thick, black smoke. Almost immediately, the pitch of the motor increased and the plane began to roll forward.

"Ok, make sure you're strapped in real tight back there." Shouted Walter, straining to make himself heard over the engine. "If i have to do a hammerhead or flip us over, can't have you tumbling out."

William checked his straps as the aircraft gained speed. He had barely finished tightening his shoulder straps when the fighter pitched quickly upward and left the ground. William felt himself being pressed into the uncomfortable seat as the aircraft rose. The ground receded far quicker than he had anticipated and, before long, they were over a thousand feet in the air.

"Woah! Look a this boss, we're so high! I didn't know kats could go this high!"

Walter chuckled. The young kat reminded him of the first time he had flown in an aircraft, all starry-eyed and awed by the experience.

"You get used to it." he said back. "Reckon this'll be normal in twenty years time, everyone will be flying."

"Don't know about that, boss. Ain't felt nothing like this before!"

The wind rushed through the wing cabled, humming over aircraft's canvas skin. The pair continued to chat away as they rose through the low-lying cloud layer before leveling off at four thousand feet. The sky was clear above them, the sun now shining brightly.

"Hey boss, what now? What do I do?"

"Pretty easy, kid. We're going to wait around until we get a good look and what's coming at us. We wait until the AA soften them up, then we jump on in. Anyone sneak in behind us, you fill 'em full of daylight with ya heater."

"Can we jus' let the AA get 'em?"

Walter snorted.

"Hah, them boys from New Kat couldn't hit a barn from ten feet." he said. "Nah, the AA just breaks up their formation, makes 'em easy to pick up. Fish in a barrel. Chances are we'll give 'em a good old scare and they'll run off."

"What are they after? We ain't been bombed downtown since the start of the war. Seems like a bit of waste if you ask me."

"Oil, kid." replied Walter. "It's all that's keeping this party going. Us, New Kat, Opal City, even them kats over east need our juice to keep 'emselves in the fight. If that gets knocked out it's curtains. Hate to say it, but we can't afford to be protecting folks downtown, we jus' gotta worry about the refineries."

If such a realisation dampened the mood, it was quickly pushed to the back of their minds as a smattering of specks appeared on the horizon. Moving quickly and in formation, the dozen or so fighters swung their formation about in a wide loop, bring themselves to face the incoming enemy. Within a few seconds of the sighting, multiple cracks of black smoke could be seen erupting from within their formation as Megatkat City's frontline AA units opened up on the attackers.

"There we go, give it a couple of minutes and we'll hit 'em"

The bombers ducked and weaved, their formation rapidly deteriorating, as they sought to evade the flak. Not intended to or capable of posing a serious risk to the safety of the aircraft or their crews, it was nevertheless disorientating. The escorting fighters rapidly broke off, climbing higher in an attempt to move out of range of the artillery.

After some five minutes, the shelling stopped.

Walter pushed both the engine throttle and mixture control levers to their maximum, injecting as much air and fuel into the spluttering engine as he could, pushing it to its maximum power output. The exhaust outlets cracked and smoked, and the aircraft lurched forward, its airspeed touching one hundred knots. Forming up, the pilots of Megakat city descended upon the cluster of bombers.

"Here we go, kid! I'm making a run on the lead bomber, you keep an eye out. If one of them fighters breaks off, smoke 'em!"

William's heart pounded in his chest, his paws shaking as he clutched the firing handles of the machine gun. Walter pushed the aircraft into a shallow dive, closing rapidly on the slow moving bomber. A large, twin-engined biplane design, it was protected by rear and forward turrets, each armed with a pair of machine guns. Diving from the side as he was, Walter's maneuver would make it difficult for the gunners to bring their aim to bear on him, while opening himself up to easier interception and pursuit by escorting fighters.

The pilot depressed the firing switch on his flight yoke, kicking in the interrupter gear and spitting over twenty rounds per second at the enemy bomber. The hits were good, shredding part of the port wing and destroying the engine in a burst of flame and smoke. Walter banked the plane to the left, passing just aft of the now faltering bomber. Ducking just under the flight path of the larger aircraft, the two kats were able to avoid a good portion of the return fire.

"C'mon, Willie, let 'em have it!"

William didn't fire.

Fully loaded fuel, but now with only a single engine operational, the bomber was rapidly losing altitude. Compounding the problems was the fact that the wing, constructed primarily from canvas and wood, service as a perfect conduit for the engine fire to spread to the main fuselage. By the time Walter had circled around for his second run, the airframe was completely engulfed. Not wanting to waste ammunition, he broke off, again passing just behind the aircraft's tail, seeking out a target among the rapidly dispersing bombers.

William could swear he heard screaming.

"Hey, kid!"

"Uh, yeah boss?"

"You need to clue in, we're not playing games up here, dig?"

His paws were still trembling around the grips of the machine gun. His half hour of dumbstruck admiration was over, this was real. All too real.

"Uh, sure...I jus…"

William was almost deafened as a bullet cracked past his ear. Before he could respond, several more rounds ripped through the aircraft's canvas canopy, perforating the tail section with holes.

"Crud, to our six, kid, get 'em!"

Sure as had been predicted, and escorting fighter had looped around and come upon the pair from behind. The high angle of interception had resulted in a poor position, and subsequently, a punishingly small firing window.

But the pilot had skill. A quick, high-angled barrel roll corrected what would have been a dangerous overshoot and positioned him directly behind the Megakat City fighter, airspeeds as near as it mattered to identical. Walter threw the flight yoke to the left and applied the rudder, diving the aircraft while turning tightly. Again, William felt himself pressed into his seat. Their pursuer followed, slightly above and turning less sharply, maintaining both superior airspeed and energy.

"He's got a few tricks, this one!" shouted Walter, still wrestling with the rapidly rolling aircraft. "He'll invert and dive on us, either you shoot or I'll have to spiral us into the ground!"

William didn't have time to think, the enemy fighter rolled through vertical and pitched downward, it's twin machine guns gaining inch by inch on their target. The spiral flattened out as their airspeed increased with decreasing altitude. It would only be a few more moments…

"Kid, I'll level us out and pull up, he'll fly right past you! You better shoot that S.O.B.!"

Clutching his weapon, William waited.

The biplane rolled violently against the turn, leveling out and slamming upward as Walter pulled back on the yoke. For a brief moment, the enemy pilot was caught off guard, still attempting to turn into what he thought was the path of the target.

The correction came too late.

William depressed both triggers. The weapon bucked and kicked against its mounting as it coughed a dozen high calibre rounds at the enemy plane. Despite having only received two weeks of training, his aim was true. The round struck a line just under the cockpit, blasting out the bottom of the engine, causing oil and coolant to spew forth uncontrollably.

"HA! I got 'em!"

"Nice, keep at it!"

With the engine still screaming along at maximum power, Walter pushed the aircraft into a steep climb. Facing backward as he was, William had to momentarily let go of the machine gun so he could steady himself with both paws on the airframe, lest he fall out. The aircraft ascended through the level of the bombers, climbing an addition two hundred feet before Walter yawed hard to the left, avoiding a stall by scant seconds.

"Woah...WOAH! Boss! We're falling!"

William very nearly fainted as a fleeting feeling of weightlessness overtook him. For a few brief seconds, he floated free of his seat, held in place only by his straps and vice-like grip on the machine gun. Before he had the chance to properly assess exactly what was happening to him, he was slammed sideways as the aircraft's wings caught the air, rolling through ninety degrees and diving sharply back towards the bombers.

"We're going for another run, some joker has decided to tag Pops, ready up on that heater!"

The dive leveled out as the airspeed pushed past one hundred and forty knots, far faster than it could achieve in level flight. Pop's was scissoring aggressively to either side, attempting to shake his pursuer. He was losing airspeed rapidly, and without the benefit of an energy advantage, he stood no chance of escaping.

"Pops!"

The enemy pilot never saw Walter coming. Pressing down on his triggers some thirty yards behind and slightly above of his target, the rounds traced a line from just behind the cockpit, over the top wing and across the engine and propellor. Pilot and aircraft spluttered and coughed one last time before both died, the wreck now spiralling towards the ground.

"Guns hot, kid, gotta cool for thirty." said Walter, banking around and searching for another target. "We'll use our airspeed and overtake that there bomber, hit the engines and watch the turret!"

Still maintaining airspeed and energy through the turn, Walter brought the aircraft under one of the remaining bombers. A quick series of snap rolls preventing the rear defensive turret for landing any hits on them as they passed under the wings.

"Hey Boss, I don't see no bombs on this thing."

Walter broke his concentration momentarily to glance upwards. Sure enough, all of the aircraft's weapons pylons were empty.

"Nice spot, kid, but… that doesn't…"

Walter's heart skipped a beat.

He shot his view away from the city, towards the rising sun.

"Oh crud! Incoming, three o'clock high!"

"Wha...boss? Three o'clock?"

Walter could have smacked the younger kat across the back of his head.

"To the right!" he yelled, motioning vigourously with his paw. "Out of the sun!"

William squinted. Surrounding the glowing orange halo of the early morning sun, an array of shapes could be seen, shimmering gentlyl

"Ah, I see 'em, boss."

Walter threw the aircraft to the left, banking steeply and diving.

"What's the deal?" asked William, again grasping the aircraft fuselage. "What about the bomber?"

"Nuts to the bomber! We've been sprung. Low and fast, kid, we're getting outta here!"

Despite the dive, the enemy aircraft continued to gain.

"Not working, boss, we've got one of them coming at us...he...this one's different!"

Walter shot a glance over his shoulder.

A flash of red.

"Can't get an eye in, Willie, what do you see."

William clutched his gun, drawing a bead on the rapidly approaching aircraft.

"Uh, it's red, boss, got some real mean looking canvas on it, looks like...a skull, yeah, someone went and decorated themselves up real pretty I think."

Red plane.

Skull insignia.

Walter didn't want to believe it. Manx would spend hours talking about his fruitless duels with a particular enemy pilot, how each and every time, the kat in the red plane would escape, running home like a coward. He'd always put it down to Manx's overwhelming sense of self-importance, and his tendency to embellish stories about his prowess in the air.

Now, however, this very kat was baring down upon them.

"William." he spoke, trying to hide the tremble in his voice.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Wait until that kat is behind us, don't you worry 'bout no-one else. Wait, and then you fill him with lead. Don't stop shooting, waste every bullet."

"Uh, sure. replied William. "But why the biggie, who is this guy?"

"You don't want to know."

William steadied his aim as the red biplane closed in behind them. Walter was ducking and weaving as much as he dared to. It threw the younger kat's aim off slightly, but with over three hundred rounds to spend, he could afford to miss a shot or two.

William saw a puff of smoke spurt from the red plane's guns. At some five hundred yards, it was a one-in-a-million shot.

One-in-a-million that went straight through William's chest.

The pain was overwhelming. He would have doubled over and screamed were it not for the fact that he was strapped upright. He glanced down. With each beat of his heart, coming at over two hundred a minute, a jet of blood spurted out, coating his machine gun in the slick, red liquid. Instinctively, his hands shot to his chest.

He sucked in a rasping, wet breath, immediately coughing up half a pint of blood as his perforated lungs rebelled against him.

With all the strength he could muster, he forced himself to turn about.

"Boss….Walter…" he gasped, every word shooting another wave of pain through his chest. "I'm…."

Walter was slumped over the controls, the back of his skull a twisted mess of flesh and bone.

"We...we need to p-pull up…"

Their airspeed increased, the wings straining and creaking as they were pushed beyond their design limits.

"Please...please pull up…I can't…"

The red biplane broke off, banking casually back towards the remainder of the Megakat City pilots, now in complete disarray as the enemy ran rampant through their formation.

"Please…."

William's vision blacked over as the aircraft broke through the cloud layer, the ground a mere thousand feet below them, and getting closer. He grasped again at his chest. His heart pumped in vain, it's furious efforts to keep his body alive serving only to eject more blood from his gaping wound.

"I don't want to…"

The wings finally gave out, snapping backwards before detaching completely from the airframe.

"..."

Traveling at a touch under two hundred knots, William's last breath left his body as the remains of the aircraft slammed into the ground.

###### ###### ######

Author's Notes:  
Well, there it is, my first one-shot. Basically wanted to see if I could write convincing aerial combat. If I did a good job or if it completely sucked, hey, let me know either way, appreciate all sorts of feedback!

I took a few liberties with SWAT Kats cannon here. Firstly, the episode in question describes The Red Lynx's plane as being 50 years old, and having flown in Mega War 2. However, given that it's a biplane, and the name "The Red Lynx" is a clear reference to Richthofen, I'm assuming that Mega War 2 is the in-universe stand-in for World War I. Additionally, "The Blue Manx" is most probably a reference to "The Blue Max", the informal name of the Pour le Merite, the German Empire's highest military award during the First World War. Combine this with the fact that Mayor Manx describes the Blue Manx as being his great grandfather, despite having only lived some 50 years prior. Also, biplanes and machine guns to Mach 5 fighter jets and lasers in 50 years seems a bit of a stretch.

So basically, I'm just pitching Mega War 2 as having happened some 100 to 120 years prior to the events of the series, with Mega War 1 being some sort of American Civil War style affair, at least in terms of technology. Given the phrase "Mega War", this may not have been a global conflict.

The other thing, and this is really just a fan theory of mine and not at all supported by the show, is the nature of the SWAT Kats universe in terms of Megakat City being a city-state. I've used the loose term "The Union" to describe some manner of national entity that existed during the events of Mega War 2 (not necessarily the in-universe equivalent of the United States, but similar). At some point, this broke up and left us with individual city-states, of which Megakat City is one. I'll likely explore this further in Counterplay and other works that I plan to write. As I said, not really supported by anything, I just think it's cool.

Sorry to go on like this! I'm a bit of a history buff (and a big fan of alternative history) and I generally find this sort of speculation, even if it is just a fanfic, pretty interesting.

Counterplay update coming soon!

Cheers!  
-AR


End file.
